


Ripe

by Meatball42



Series: Rare Pairs [149]
Category: The Lorax - Dr. Seuss
Genre: ...i think?, Consensual Sex, Dubious Consent, Frottage, Human-Plant relations, Loss of Virginity, Multi, Other, Stuffing, Traditions, Vaginal Fingering, Worldbuilding, Xenophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-12
Updated: 2020-01-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:27:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22229410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meatball42/pseuds/Meatball42
Summary: It has been thirteen years since the Truffula trees have been ripe. I was young the last time. I watched from the edge of the meadow that bordered the Truffula tree forest as the people of my village went in to help the Truffula trees pollinate. They are the source of all life in this land; we would not survive without them, so we help spread their seed throughout the forest. It is our tradition, our honor, our pleasure.
Relationships: Truffula Tree (The Lorax)/Original Female Character(s), Truffula Tree (The Lorax)/Original Female Character(s)/The Lorax
Series: Rare Pairs [149]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/365729
Comments: 6
Kudos: 16
Collections: Exchanges After Dark Birthday Bash 2020





	Ripe

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kartaylir](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kartaylir/gifts).



> This story owes a huge debt to Temperist, who provided a much more thorough beta job than it deserved. Their whose insight and precise strikes of the metaphorical red pen made it... well, I can't say fit for consumption, but at least it's a lot nicer to read.
> 
> Kartaylir, happy first exchange! I hope this makes it a... thorough experience for you.

It has been thirteen years since the Truffula trees have been ripe. I was young the last time. I watched from the edge of the meadow that bordered the Truffula tree forest as the people of my village went in to help the Truffula trees pollinate. They are the source of all life in this land; we would not survive without them, so we help spread their seed throughout the forest. It is our tradition, our honor, our pleasure.

As the season changes, the rains falling further and further down the coast, my village prepares. I will go into the forest this year, and I soak up all the advice I can from my elders: how to identify the ripest trees, how to coax out their life-giving dust, how to coat myself with it and spread it across the land. What predators to watch out for, and what wonders.

On the first hot day, the Truffula trees begin to bloom, their light and gauzy innards swaying in the wind. The scent of their readiness is deep, like rich sap. It permeates everything. By the end of the summer, it will sink into every cloth we own. I remember the lingering smell from last time.

I enter the forest with my neighbors. There are children lining the meadow, holding baskets for waterskins, fruits, nuts, and other replenishing foods. We don’t bring meat into the Truffula forest, traditionally, but it is no real obstacle: the Truffula provide a rich soil, and many options for us.

As I walk further into the forest, I search for the ripest tree to harvest first. When I find it, I am in a silent part of the forest, far from  where  my neighbors  have wandered . The tree is sinking under the heaviness of the pollen within,  densely  packed and ready for release. Its weight brings it almost to the ground, in easy range for me to begin the harvest.

I take off my garments and lay them away from the ripe tree. Taking a deep breath to calm my nerves, I begin the traditional dance around the tight bud of the tree, ducking under the trunk every so often as I circle it. There is a song the elders use to teach us the dance, back in the village. I find myself humming it to keep time. It sounds pleasant alongside the sounds of my footfalls and the wind through the swaying trees.

I hear something else then, and pause to look around. Has one of the others approached on their search? But  no, there is nothing in sight. I decide  that  a small animal must have darted away and resume the dance.

My  body begins to brush against the Truffula tree as my circles around it become smaller. I touch it  slowly  at first, letting the light, feathery leaves raise goosebumps on my skin, but I must press closer. The thicker fronds underneath feel like fur on my skin. I can see the pale yellow pollen brushing off on my skin, and the knowledge  that  I am beginning to succeed at releasing the tree's seed encourages me. I press my body against the swollen, heavy bud of the tree and dance in a swaying pattern, mimicking the tree's natural movement in the wind.

More and more pollen rubs off on me as the leaves surrounding the inner pocket begin to relax. The pollen is softer than anything I've ever felt, and it feels so good on my skin against the feathery leaves. I find myself rubbing even harder against the tree as a wild sort of feeling takes over me, a heat blooming on my neck and chest, down into my stomach and lower. I reach out and sink my hands into the tree, which is fluffing up, large and lush.

I step even closer, sensing my success, and some of the leaves brush between my legs, where my garment  normally  covers. The sensation of the leaves, so soft yet so firm, makes me gasp. I try to continue the rhythm of the dance, but it is no use. My body moves without my mind's command, pressing into the fronds in a new twitching, writhing dance; different, but so perfect. The leaves of the Truffula tree ignite a fire within me, one my deep breaths only feed, one I try to release in cries to the silent forest.

Whatever magic the tree is casting on me, the spell is complete. I scream, something bursting within me, and can only shake and shiver, my body smothered within the swollen, puffy leaves. My own body feels swollen and puffy too, my legs trembling around the swollen parts of me, hot and wet and sending little sparks of magic through me as I try to step away from the tree.

Something moves behind me.

I flinch, struggling to turn around with my limbs ignoring my intentions. But something—some _ one _ —steps up close behind me, and their body somehow feels exactly like the tree in front. I gasp, as the fear rushing through me changes in a shocking instant, and the heat  from before floods me again. I can only cling to the tree and tremble, uncertain and wanting.

Something trails down my arms, and it feels like the thicker fronds in the center of the Truffula bud. I close my eyes, uncertain. If this is a god of the forest, should I set my eyes upon it? Am I worthy?

There is a sound like a whispered laugh behind me, and the being leans closer. I can feel their warmth, the weight of their body. They are  reassuringly  solid, and I blink open my eyes.

Long, furred fingers come to a point like the leaves of the Truffula tree. They are bright orange and vibrant against my skin, but  look  natural against the bright colors of the tree. I watch as they sink between the fluffy fronds and into the pod at the center of the tree, which has relaxed enough to leak pollen in waves.

The fingers sink into the pod and emerge closed around a handful of pollen.  Then, the hand moves down through the leaves until it is brushing my body, and further, until—

I gasp, cry in surprise. My body twitches once like it wants to pull away. I don't know, I don't—

Soft, firm fingers go somewhere I had never thought to explore.

I throw my head back and stare into the sky, shaking and moaning. The place between my legs is sore and hot, like something is being pulled down from my stomach although I know, I  _ know  _ that something is being pressed up. I clutch the tree and try to hold myself up while the being does its work.  I have realized that this must be part of the ritual, and I must let the forest and its caretaker complete the harvest.

The hand keeps moving, guiding more of the pollen inside me as I try not to whimper. My skin tingles all over my body like the air during a storm. I must break apart, or else... or else... I don't know.

Finally, the being retreats from between my legs. I shake against the Truffula tree, unable to move. I watch as the being reaches into the tree again, my mouth dropping open as it emerges with another handful of pollen.

A tear falls from my eye, but even so, I take a shaky step, opening my legs wider for the being to reach. As it presses up into me once again, I accept the intrusion with a moan, knowing I will always be a devoted servant of the Truffula forest.


End file.
